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Message-ID: <49246asstr$1095754203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <revcottonmather@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} NEW Playing the Game III: The Competitive Edge, Ch. 29
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Date: Tue, 21 Sep 2004 04:10:03 -0400
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After an unavoidable delay, I bring you Chapter 29.

Those of you who are members of my Yahoo group are already aware of my 
current situation.  For the rest, suffice it to say my posting schedule will 
be erratic at best for the foreseeable future.

Enjoy!

RCM

Rev. Cotton Mather
Senior Pastor,
Church of the Erotic Redemption
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/ReverendCottonMather/www
http://www.storiesonline.net
www.ruthiesclub.com

Would you like to be notified when I post new chapters or stories?  Sign up 
at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/RCMStories/join

**If I had to do it all over,
I'd do it all over you**

<1st attachment, "CE29.txt" begin>


---------------------------------------------------------------------

Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather. This
story is the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or
downloaded for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for
anyone to download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as
long as there is no intent to charge money or barter for the
privilege of acquiring this material.

(copyright 2004, Rev. Cotton Mather)

E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather at hotmail dot com
Don't be shy!  I enjoy hearing from you.
---------------------------------------------------------------------



THE COMPETITIVE EDGE:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK III


by Reverend Cotton Mather




- 29 -

COMMUNICATION IS THE KEY


Trent and Danielle were already back from college by the time I got
home, but Eric and Keisha still had another week to go before they
would be home.  Danielle and I got busy on our camp applications,
spending some long days in my basement getting everything set up.
Trent and I then got into my trusty Rabbit and drove to South Bend.

We had an appointment with Vangie Williams, the director of the
local AYSO organization, and she gave us a list of names, kids who
wanted to enroll in our clinics.  Danielle had talked to her several
times, and she also provided us a list of what she termed "good,
solid players" for us to evaluate as instructors.  Several names on
the list were club players, and there were a couple of local kids who
played for the Notre Dame women's team on the list.

Trent and I stayed over that night and met up with Mrs. Williams and
her travel team director, a man named John Hennessey, the next
morning at a soccer complex on the north edge of the city.  Hennessey
was about forty, balding and soft in the middle, but he had been
involved with youth soccer in South Bend for over fifteen years.  He
knew every name on our list of potential instructors, and he had some
great insight into the players, their strengths and their weaknesses.
He spoke gruffly, however, and I got the feeling he considered me an
interloper.  He was a little arrogant for an overweight ex-jock who
probably couldn't run six laps around a soccer field without an
oxygen tank, but I bit my tongue and kept on nodding and saying,
"Yes, sir."

Within half an hour players began showing up at our field.  There
were fifteen kids, some in high school and a few college-age, six
boys and nine girls.  They were dressed for play, and once they were
assembled in front of us and the introductions made, Hennessey
stepped to the front and began barking orders for the players to take
the field.  He began his own warm-up drills with the kids, and they
fell into a routine so fast I knew they all had played on his teams
for years.

He had them do some short passing drills, boring stuff that they had
outgrown by the ninth grade, but Hennessey hadn't realized it.  After
about ten minutes of desultorily shuffling the balls around, the
whole thing began to break down.  Hennessey blew his whistle three
sharp blasts and called the players in to him.  He instructed them to
begin stretching exercises, assigning a tall, thin brunette girl to
lead them.  I could see her roll her eyes as she reluctantly stood up
in front of the group to lead them in stretching.

I had seen enough.  Trent and I looked at each other, and then I
stepped up to the girl.

"That's good enough," I said, much to her relief.  The girl rejoined
her friends on the ground.  Hennessey, unused to such interruptions,
looked like he was about to upbraid me for my brashness, but Mrs.
Williams quietly put her hand on his arm and said something quietly
to him.  He looked at her, getting a little redder in the face, but
he stayed back.

I asked the kids to introduce themselves and tell us about their
soccer experience.  They all had similar stories, small city glories
and successes.  The two girls from Notre Dame, Trisha Abbinante and
Lindsey Marker, were obviously the cream of the crop.  Of the rest, I
thought two or three might be able to play at the college level, if
they were willing to work very hard.  I was about test them.

First, I introduced Trent and myself.  My natural inclination was to
gloss over my own qualifications and let my game speak for itself,
but in this instance I knew I had to be more forthcoming.

"First, I'd like to introduce Trent Abbott."  I nodded to my friend,
standing beside me.  "Trent started four years for our high school
team as forward, and he shattered our school and our conference
scoring record in his junior year.  His senior year, he broke his own
records, and was selected to the All-State first team.  He's just
finished his second year at the University of North Carolina, where
he has started every game for two years."

The kids who weren't watching me were looking at Trent.  The guys
seemed like they were gauging themselves against him, and I could see
a couple of kids smirking, as if to say they thought they could run
rings around Trent.  They were going to have their opportunity to
attempt it shortly.

"My name is Sean Porter, and I just finished my first year at the
University of Florida," I continued.  "I didn't play varsity ball
until my sophomore year in high school, and I didn't take over a
starting position until well into our season that year.  We made it
to State, but lost in the semi-finals.  My junior and senior years,
we won back-to-back state championships, and we were undefeated my
senior year.  We had three All-State selections my junior year,
including Trent and myself.  My senior year, our team finished the
year ranked third in the nation, and we had three players on the
First-Team All-State team.  All of those players help me with camps
today, as well as other All-State, All-Conference, and All-American
players."

I glanced over at Mrs. Williams and John Hennessey.  They were
listening, Mrs. Williams with a smile and Hennessey with a grouchy
look.

"Now, before we get started," I said, but Trent interrupted me.

"Don't let Sean get away with buffaloing you," he said with a laugh.
"He's not telling you the whole story."

"Trent..."

He put his hand out in front of me, not letting me stop him.

"Here's what he's not telling you," he continued.  Interestingly, he
had everybody's attention.  "While it's true he didn't start at the
beginning of his sophomore year, he still managed to be a second-team
All-State selection that year, and the next two years he was a first-
team selection.  He's a defensive specialist, maybe the best I've
seen, but he can also move up and be a scoring threat when he wants
to."

He began walking back and forth in front of the seated kids, and
their eyes followed him.

"He was the starting right defender for the University of Florida
this year, on a team that includes two high school All-American
players.  You know how many All-Americans are chosen each year?
Twenty-two boys, and twenty-two girls.  North Carolina doesn't have
any All-Americans on their men's team.  Neither does Notre Dame, do
they?"

He looked at Trisha and Lindsey, who were nodding.  "Actually, we do
have one," said Trisha.

"Okay, Notre Dame has one.  That's not unexpected, I guess.
Colleges either have one, or they don't have any.  And yet Florida
has two of 'em.  One is Jesse Wilhoit, who actually is working this
summer for the second of the Florida All-Americans.  You know where
I'm going with this, don't you?"

Trisha and Lindsey nodded and smiled, and so did about half the
other kids.  The slower ones turned and whispered to each other,
wondering what Trent was talking about.

For myself, I just stood there, embarrassed, and no doubt red as a
beet.

Trent strode over to me and threw his arm around my shoulder.

"Meet the second Florida All-American," he said.


_____________________________________________________________________


Trent and I started them out on some simple drills for warm-up while
John Hennessey fumed and paced on the sidelines.  He really didn't
like being left out.  It quickly became obvious to Trent and me these
kids knew what they were doing, so we set up a challenge for them.  I
divided them up into two teams, and Trent joined the short team.  I
told both teams they had two minutes to set their positions on the
field, playing eight versus eight, no keeper.  I wanted to see if
their imaginations carried them beyond a 3-2-3 set, which would have
been a typical lineup with eight players.  I told Trent to just go
with what the others wanted to do, without making any suggestions.

Each team huddled up on opposite sides of the field and talked over
their ideas for lining up.  Mrs. Williams, Mr. Hennessey, and I
stayed on the sidelines.  I explained to them what I was looking for,
and Hennessey gave me an appraising look.

"Clever," he said, perhaps a little grudgingly.  His comment made me
think of Erin and our conversation on the beach.  My knee-jerk
reaction was to come back with "No, I'm not," but I kept my mouth
shut.  You can rarely get into too much trouble by saying too little.

Both teams set up in the common lineup.  I let them play for about
fifteen minutes, watching their techniques as they matched up.  Once
I had a feel for the players I blew my whistle, stopping the game,
and I trotted out to the center of the field.  Most of the kids were
blowing a little hard as they gathered around me.  Trent, wearing red
to match his teammates, stayed at the back of the group and watched
for the reactions when I mixed up the teams and sent them back out.
There was a moment of shuffling as practice jerseys were traded
around, until the teams were set up to my satisfaction.

"Trent, put them into a different configuration," I called out as I
walked over to join the team in the yellow jerseys.  I had the yellow
team huddle up around me, and I knelt down on the grass.

"I don't know what Trent is setting up, but you can bet it won't be
a 3-2-3 lineup," I said.  "Here's what I want you to do.  Red will
take the ball, and I want three players to line up down right behind
each other, about ten meters off the centerline to the right."

"Why?" asked one of the younger boys.  "That's just exposing the
sidelines."

"I'm not done," I said.  "I want three midfielders lined up behind
each other, spaced about five meters, with the front player about
even with the last forward, but I want you ten meters over on the
left side."

"But..."  The same kid was about to protest, but I looked up at him,
and he wisely shut up.

"Two defenders just off the sidelines, back."  I looked around at
the eight players around me.  "Anybody know why I'm lining you up
like this?"

"You want us to lose?" hazarded the hopeless boy with the big mouth.

I didn't have to say anything.  The girl standing next to him hit
him in the arm.  "No, stupid," she chided.  "It's a defensive setup.
Right?"  She looked to me.

I smiled at her, letting her know she was correct.  "Absolutely," I
replied.  "This way you can break off on coverage, depending on how
the red team aligns itself.  What's your name again?" I asked the
girl who had come up with the answer.

"Alyssa," she answered, blushing at the attention.  "Alyssa Moore."

"Okay, Alyssa Moore, here's another question for you.  What's the
key to making this work?"

She furrowed her brow and concentrated on picturing the lineup.  Her
eyes refocused in just a moment.

"The front line, the two at the heads of each line..."  I could see
her recalling my instructions.  I had deliberately called the players
on the left midfielders, but I didn't identify the ones on the right.
She picked up on my clue.  "...actually, maybe the first two on the
right, they're really the defense," she said with a grin.

"Yes! And?"

"And... the only way it will work is if we talk to each other," she
continued.

"Dead on," I said, smiling.  "Well done."  I looked around at the
others.  I saw recognition in most of their faces, but I explained
anyway.  "The front players are really the defenders, and you will
mark the forwards as they advance.  The last person in the each of
the lines will direct traffic, so listen up for directions from
behind you.  The three midfielders, two players lined up on the left
and the last person on the right, play both sides of the centerline,
and you, too, will have to mark up.  But, and this is important,
folks: communication is the key.  Listen for the third person, in
case they see something developing.  The two back in the defensive
slots are there to make sure the other team doesn't just try to lob
the ball over everybody toward the net.  Once the ball is in play and
the rest of the team is in motion, you guys head upfield and become
our offensive line."

"Seems complicated for just a scrimmage," said the boy next to Alyssa.

"What was your name again?" I asked.

He looked like he was hesitating to give me his real name, but he
knew I would discover the deceit quickly.  "Ryan," he said.  "Ryan
Moore."

I was startled.  "Are you Alyssa's brother?" I asked.

He looked embarrassed.  "Cousin," he mumbled.

"Well, Ryan, stick by your cousin," I told him.  "Maybe you'll learn
something about playing this game."

He looked daggers at me, difficult for a sixteen-year-old in high
socks, but I didn't care.  He was the one looking for a job, and I
was the one holding the decision.  I already knew what that decision
was going to be, and Ryan, dense as he was, probably did too, but he
still had to keep trying.  His older cousin was watching.

"If it's run right, scrimmages are just like games," I informed the
group.  "Just faster, rougher, and more intense."

A couple of the group chuckled appreciatively, but the rest looked
at me like I was speaking in tongues.  Obviously they had never taken
their scrimmages seriously enough.  That was about to change.

"Ready?" I asked, standing.  I didn't give them a chance to ask any
more questions.  "Break!" I shouted, and they followed suit.  There
was a bit of shuffling as they wondered which line to go into, but I
let them work that part out themselves.  I walked back to the
sidelines and stood by the center line.

"Red Team takes the ball," I called.  I saw the red team looking
like they were going to huddle up together again when they saw my
yellow team align themselves, but I didn't give them the chance.  I
blew my whistle, and they had no choice but to start the scrimmage.

"That's the strangest configuration I've ever seen," said Hennessey.
"It leaves a lot of holes open.  It can't possibly be any good."

I glanced over at him, and he looked almost pleased.  The prospect
of a plan of mine failing seemed to cheer him up.  I almost hated to
burst his bubble.

"Wait," I said.

Alyssa was in the directing spot on the left line, and Lindsey, one
of the girls from Notre Dame, was the trailing midfielder.  As long
as the others followed their instructions, I was confident things
would work out.

The red team took the ball, two forwards in position to tap it ahead
as if they were starting a game.  They spread out, no doubt thinking
they had the advantage of a wide-open field.  I could see almost
immediately they were intending to drive down the far line, but
Alyssa saw it, too, and Lindsey recognized it at the same time.
Surprisingly, so did the first person in Alyssa's line, a tall and
rangy kid whose name I couldn't remember.  He took off after the
ballhandler, and Alyssa only had to send her cousin after the forward
who was taking off ahead of the ball.

Meanwhile, Lindsey put her midfielders into position, assigning
coverages.  The two yellow players who were back, once they saw how
the field was aligning, moved up to take over the forward spots, and
the game was on.

Everything worked.  It was a little ragged, but it was their first
time trying something so radical.  Once the players on both sides had
established their positions, they got more comfortable, and began
playing a more conventional scrimmage.  Time to stop and reshuffle.

I reset the yellow team, and Trent did the same with the red team.
This time, Trent showed us a double-diamond, each taking a side of
the field.  This effectively made his lineup a versatile 2-4-2
configuration.  He faced a flying wedge from the yellow team, with
six players loosely lined up across the middle, and two defenders
back.  Once again, the yellow players broke off to coverage as the
red team advanced.  This time I let them play for about ten minutes,
and it got faster and more intense as the minutes ticked off.  I was
standing on the sidelines, very pleased with the progress we had made
in such a short time.

I blew my whistle to halt play, and everybody jogged over to the
sidelines to grab some water.  Everybody was blowing hard, and they
all flopped to the ground to grab some rest.  Trent and I put our
heads together and compared observations.  I had six players I was
watching closely, and Trent added two more names to my list.  I was
willing to call it a day, and do final interviews by telephone before
I hired the six I wanted for my clinics.

I walked back over to the group, ready to dismiss them.  There was a
buzz of excitement as the boys and girls talked about the scrimmage.
The group quieted down when they noticed me standing and listening to
them.

"I've got a good idea about your skills," I said.  "I'll call you
individually in about a week."

"Sean?"  Lindsey raised her hand.

"You have a question?  Ask away," I said.

"Can we do another scrimmage?"

I was startled.  I looked around, and I saw excitement in their
faces.  They were being challenged to think outside their previous
sphere of experience playing soccer, and they liked it.

"Sure," I said.

"And can you play, too?"  This time it was Alyssa who spoke up.

"Yeah, that would be cool," said a couple of the others.

"It'll make the teams uneven," I said.

"I'll set up the yellow team and observe," Trent offered.  He was
smiling.  He liked the attitude, too.

"Okay, let's go," I said.  I took the red jersey Trent handed to me,
and we trotted out onto the field to our respective sides.

When the red team huddled up around me, I dropped to my knee.  With
my index finger, I began mapping out a full field in the grass.

"Okay, we're going to start out in a 3-2-3," I said.

"I thought you didn't like standard sets," said the boy to my
immediate right.

I glanced up at him.  "I never said that," I told him.  "But it's
what you find most of the time.  I wanted to see you all come up with
something a little more innovative."

"So why are we going back to it?"

I smiled at him, and then looked around me at the faces looking down
at me.  They were eager and interested in where I was taking this.
"Just because we start out in a 3-2-3 doesn't mean we have to play
positions like we're in a 3-2-3.  Now listen up.  This is going to
get complicated."

I began drawing symbols for our starting positions, and assigned
them.  I put myself back into my right defensive spot, but then I
began sketching arrows and lines diagonally and up and down,
indicating switching coverages.

"All this swings on the defensive eyes in the middle," I said.  I
pointed to Trisha Abbinante, the other Notre Dame player.  "That's
you.  You call out the switches as soon as you see opportunities.
Within about five minutes, I should be up at left forward, the left
forward might be at the sweeper spot, and the center mid could be
just about anywhere."

"But... but what about our positions?" asked the boy on my right.

"Play the game, and play the ball, according to what your stopper is
telling you," I said.  "That's your position."  I looked up at each
of the faces around me.  "This configuration works on communication,"
I told them seriously.  "It doesn't matter who you're playing, or
what position you are in.  Your team won't be successful if you don't
talk to each other out on the field.  If your team has been winning
without communicating, I can guarantee you, you haven't played
against anybody who really knows how to play the game.  Someday your
team will run up against a coach who knows the true inner workings of
a soccer game, and that team will eat you alive just about every
time."

Trisha, as team captain, assigned the other positions.  We took the
field, facing an inverted wedge from the yellow team.  We kicked off,
and within just a few minutes I was delighted to see everybody on the
field working the game, concentrating, and challenging on every
possession.

I was expecting to be double-teamed everywhere I went, and I was
happy to let them come.  I knew I could keep them occupied, and I had
confidence Trisha would be able to direct the open player into an
advantageous position.

Trisha moved us around the field as she saw fit, and I was happy to
see a similar communication on the other side.  She didn't hesitate
in directing me around the field, another point in her favor.  The
more I observed her game, the better I liked it.

It turned into quite an intense match, and Trent and I let them play
on.  Trent finally blew his whistle after about thirty minutes, and
even then there were groans and complaints about ending the
scrimmage.  All the kids were very excited about the morning, talking
enthusiastically as they walked off the field, and they all thanked
both of us as they gathered up their gear.  I watched as they walked
toward the parking lot in groups, talking animatedly about the
scrimmages.  Alyssa, Trisha, and Lindsey all turned around and waved
as they got to their cars, obviously very happy with the tryouts.

'They should be,' I thought to myself as I waved back to them.  They
were going to be the core of my South Bend instructors.

"Sean?"  Mrs. Williamson tapped my shoulder.  I turned around, and
she and Hennessey were side by side.

Hennessey looked chagrined.  "I think I owe you an apology," he
said.  "I've never seen anything quite like that last scrimmage
before."

"No apology necessary," I said.  "I'm just bringing a different
perspective to your players.  They've all got good skills.  You and
your coaches have given them a nice groundwork I can build on.  I was
just trying to get them to think beyond position play."

"Well, you certainly got me to thinking," said Hennessey.  "In fact,
I've been talking with Vangie about a new program we might like to
sponsor.  We'd like you to come back in August sometime and run a
coaches' clinic for us."

"A coaches' clinic?"

"Yes.  Most of our coaches, especially for the younger players and
the recreational teams, are moms and dads who were recruited to fill
the job.  They're an enthusiastic bunch, but they really don't have
much of a clue about what to do beyond teaching basic dribbling
skills.  If you could teach the coaches, we might be able to see some
of those players advance quicker."

"Into travel teams?" I asked.  It was a common path for kids to
follow if they had the desire and the willingness to work and learn.

Hennessey shrugged.  "Sure," he said.  "If it will make our travel
teams stronger, I'm all for it.  And I can see your crew can begin
building a stronger program for us here."

I glanced over at Mrs. Williams.  She was smiling and nodding,
obviously in agreement.

"Tell you what," I said to them both.  "I'll have Danielle work out
a block of time for me, and I'll bring along Jesse Wilhoit, Trent,
and Jorge Mendoza.  A forward, a midfielder, a defender, and a
keeper.  We'll put together a two-day clinic for your coaches.  We
should probably split the days, a half-day each for rec coaches and
for travel coaches."

"Terrific!"  Hennessey stuck out his hand for me to shake, and he
pumped my arm up and down enthusiastically.  "We'll be in touch to
set up a date."

As Trent and I packed up our gear, I told him about their proposal.

He chuckled.  "Porter Enterprises just got bigger," he said.
"You've just expanded into coaching clinics."

And, just like that, a whole new business opportunity opened up.  It
was going to be a busy summer.


_____________________________________________________________________


The next week Eric and I made a similar trip to Merrillville.  We
stayed two days, evaluating prospects and getting camp schedules set
up.  It looked like we would be using two fields for nearly the
entire summer there.

I also talked to the Merrillville AYSO leadership about scheduling a
coaches' clinic later in the summer, and they were very interested.
I promised to put together a proposal and schedule, and mail it to
them within the next week.  I would try to schedule South Bend and
Merrillville back-to-back, so our road trip could be done all at once.

Eric and I ran similar exercises and scrimmages as we had done in
South Bend, but with even better results.  We found ten good people,
and on the drive back home we pared the list down to a core of six
instructors we wanted to hire for the summer.  It was a good trip.


_____________________________________________________________________


On the Friday between my trips to Indiana, I called the Lehigh
house.  I had been dreading my first conversation with Kayla, despite
the fact we had been writing to each other, at least occasionally.  I
knew, though, I had an obligation, and I was determined to see it
through.

Jake was home from Iowa, and I talked with him for a long time.  We
caught each other up, filling each other in on our respective school
years, talking in that peculiar shorthand best friends sometimes
develop.  We promised each other we would meet that night at one of
our old hangouts, Mike's Pizza, for a few hours.

"Okay, dude," said Jake.  "Ten o'clock?  Jaimie's coming, too."

"Great.  See you there."  I hesitated, and then took the plunge.
"Hey, is Kay home?  I'd like to talk to her for a minute."  Suddenly
I was very nervous.

A moment later, Jake confirmed I had good reason to be nervous.

Reluctantly, he replied, "No, Sean, she's not home."  A long pause,
and then he tore my heart out and handed it back to me, a bleeding
piece of worthless meat.

"It's prom weekend, dude.  She's gone all weekend with her date."





(Continued in Chapter 30)
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